


The Sweet Spot

by EllaStorm



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Alucard is being annoying, Banter, Brief Mentions of Sexual Coercion, Confessions, Drunkenness, Fix-It of Sorts, Gift Fic, Kissing, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Trevor is very bad at this whole cheering-people-up-thing, nothing too heavy though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28284552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllaStorm/pseuds/EllaStorm
Summary: Post-S3. When Sypha leaves for an extended family reunion, Trevor stays behind with Alucard to ensure that nothing terrible happens to him – again. To say his babysitting duties exert a strain on Trevor’s nerves is a complete understatement, however, because Alucard is annoying and irritable and an all-around bastard, and Trevor is not good at this cheering-up-the-traumatised-thing, and even less good at the not-picking-fights-with-Alucard-thing. He has a solid plan, though, which mostly consists of being just drunk enough not to screw everything up royally before Sypha gets back. Of course, it backfires.
Relationships: Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Trevor Belmont
Comments: 5
Kudos: 78





	The Sweet Spot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meereswiederkaeuer](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=meereswiederkaeuer).



> This is a Christmas gift to my consistently awesome friend @meereswiederkaeuer.  
> After an extended Castlevania-binge a while ago, Meere asked me for a Post-S3-Fix-It Trevorcard that doesn’t focus too heavily on Alucard’s traumatic experience at the end of S3 and more on Trevor being a bad babysitter/cheerleader/psychotherapist…and also BANTER.
> 
> My dear Meere, this might (?) have gotten a little schmoopier than intended along the way, with all the talking-about-feelings and mad-compliment-battle in the middle, but there is banter, and Trevor being out of his depth, and Alucard being a little shit – and I really, really hope you’ll like it.
> 
> A most wonderful Christmas to you :*

Sypha’s pointy fingers were digging so firmly into Trevor’s forearm as she pulled him aside in front of the castle, that – when she let go of him – he had to shake his arm to make sure there was still blood flowing through it.

“You can’t go with me, Trevor,” she said, and her voice had a rather urgent quality to it.

“Why not? It’s just a few weeks, you said it yourself. Quick meetup with your family, and then we’ll be back.”

The distance between Sypha’s eyebrows shrank and folded, which was never a good sign. “Trevor, we can’t leave Alucard alone again.”

Trevor huffed. “He’s not a child. In fact, he’s a very powerful half-vampire with super-speed, super-strength and super-fighting-skills. Though he does bear a remarkable resemblance to a toddler when he puts on his scowly-face; maybe that’s what makes you believe he needs someone to constantly baby-sit him?”

“I’m deadly serious, Trevor.”

“So am I, Sypha. It’s three weeks, max. What’s the worst that could happen, huh?”

Sypha’s eyebrows moved ever closer to one another, until they became one meandering line.

“The worst that could happen, Trevor? Oh, I don’t know, maybe somewhere out there, there’s a bunch of clever humans just waiting to make friends with him, get into his castle, sexually harass him, almost kill him and then send him down a path of destruction and punishment, perfectly encompassed by him literally putting them on stakes in front of his castle, _just like his Dad used to do._ AGAIN.”

Trevor sighed. Of course, she was right. They shouldn’t have left Alucard alone the first time, and they sure as Hell shouldn’t do it again. But Trevor _hated_ this particular plan. Not because he didn’t care for Alucard – he _did,_ despite his reluctance to call him a _friend_ or anything melodramatic like that – but…being around Alucard for the past few days had felt like constantly walking on eggshells, and Trevor wasn’t very good at that. All the eggshells he had walked on up to this point had broken sooner or later, and in his mind’s eye he already saw his own body on one of the lovely stakes in front of this very castle for having said the wrong thing to Alucard at the wrong time. Sypha, for some reason, didn’t seem to have these kinds of problems, Alucard was almost _soft_ around her; but with Trevor and Alucard alone in the same room for an extended period of time a fistfight was in the cards sooner or later.

“You told me yourself I’m not very good at the whole cheering-people-up-business,” Trevor objected, weakly, knowing he’d long lost this discussion.

Sypha’s expression softened. “You don’t need to put him in a good mood. Just make sure nothing terrible happens to him, okay?”

“What about if anything terrible happens to _me_ in the process of making sure nothing terrible happens to _him,_ huh?”

She patted his arm and put a small kiss on his cheek. “I promise, I’ll come back and scrape what’s left of you off the ground.”

Trevor’s face landed in his palm. “Oh God.” He carefully peered through his fingers at Sypha. “Are you sure you absolutely _have_ to leave?”

“Perfectly sure.” The look on her face was a little bit too cheerful, and Trevor meant to call her out on that, but she had already turned away, her bag casually slung over her shoulder, and he was left to stand in the shadow of Dracula’s castle alone, tasked with baby-sitting a scowling, aggressive dhampir for the next couple of weeks who might attempt to kill him. Just what he needed.

***

The first few days between him and Alucard were mostly spent not talking to each other and keeping to themselves, which Trevor was incredibly glad for. Not talking meant he could not say anything wrong to Alucard, which meant he couldn’t get into a fight with Alucard, which meant none of them was going to get murdered. On the flipside, not talking and not really having anything to do also meant that Trevor was getting bored, and a bored Trevor was a twitchy Trevor and a twitchy Trevor did reckless things. So, this state of peace was rather volatile, at least with Trevor sober. With Trevor drunk, the twitchiness would go away, but the probability that something _incredibly_ indecorous would leave his lips at some point would reach hazardous levels, and he had yet to find the sweet spot between completely sober and completely drunk that would take care of the twitchiness but also not leave him out of control of what he was saying. It was a balancing act that he would have to master, if this was going to go well, and so Trevor allowed himself variable amounts of wine out of the bottles Alucard so gracefully left in the kitchen every evening, in order to finally get to the point that would unwind but not unhinge him.

Trevor could – even though he would have loved to – not complain about Alucard’s qualities as a host: Apart from the wine, the dhampir also left a sizeable portion of the meals that he cooked every day out for Trevor to enjoy for breakfast, lunch and dinner. And to Trevor’s chagrin, what Alucard was cooking was among the best food Trevor had eaten in his life. They had an unspoken agreement that Alucard would eat his meals a little before Trevor ate his, so they only had to share the kitchen occasionally, or not at all; and by his fifth dinner in the castle Trevor (having just shortly realised that three glasses of wine had taken care of most of his twitchiness and pouring himself a fourth one for good measure, getting closer to the yearned-for sweet spot than ever before) was carefully optimistic.

Then, Alucard entered the kitchen, in complete disregard of their silent arrangement of not sharing space or words for longer than absolutely necessary and sat down on the chair opposite Trevor’s.

There was a lot of presence of mind involved on Trevor’s part not to accidentally drop the wine bottle he was currently holding to the floor.

“How was the hare? I think I went a little strong on the spices, maybe. Pour me one, too?”

He stretched out a hand with a wine glass in it in Trevor’s direction, and Trevor obliged, even though an uncomfortable, foreboding knot was forming in his stomach.

“Uhhh, the food…very good,” he managed, and Alucard raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

“Your ability of forming complete sentences seems to have suffered a little, however. The wine doesn’t help, I reckon.”

And there it was again, this terrific ability of Alucard’s to drive Trevor up the wall with just one sentence. If Sypha had said something similar, which she had on multiple occasions done in the past, he would have taken it in stride, but something about Alucard’s tone of voice, the arrogance in his expression, something about _him_ in his entirety _,_ made Trevor want to punch him in his perfect nose.

“For me, it doesn’t. Wine might help _you_ get that stick out of your ass, though,” Trevor retorted, without meaning to – and that, in turn, gave him a head’s up that, despite his best intentions, the third glass of wine had catapulted him way past the peaceful sweet spot and straight into indecorous-territory. Which meant that the _fourth_ one he was currently having was, like Alucard had correctly surmised, _absolutely not the fuck helping_.

Alucard’s expression on the other side of the table hadn’t shifted, but there was a certain stoniness in his eyes that didn’t bode well.

“Or maybe I’m wrong,” Trevor said, because that was a thought that had only just occurred to him. He gave his glass a calculating look. “Maybe I’m _still_ way too sober. Who can tell?”

“You are many things, Belmont, but _too sober_ isn’t one of them.”

Trevor furrowed his brows. “You wouldn’t know. Or are you looking for the sweet spot, too?”

Alucard blinked. “What are you talking about?” He tilted his head. “Do I want to _know_ what you’re talking about?”

Trevor took another draught of wine and the warm, fuzzy feeling in his stomach that he associated with the familiar state of insobriety grounded him somewhat. To Hell with it, this experiment was a failure now anyway, he had pissed Alucard off despite his best efforts not to, and why not explain it to him before they tried to murder each other this time? It was the civil thing to do, after all.

“The sweet spot. The perfect spot between sobriety and drunkenness. _My_ perfect spot. If I’m to sober, you see, I say stupid things that might get me into a fight with you, because I’m twitchy and easily offended. But if I’m too drunk, I also say stupid things that might get me into a fight with you, because I’m…drunk, basically. And if I get into a fight with you, it’ll be bad. Without Sypha here we’ll sooner or later bash each other’s skull in, because we’re _us_. Because we rub each other the wrong way. I don’t want a fight. I’m only here to make sure nothing terrible happens to you, and I _don’t want a fight_. That’s why I try to stay out of your way. And that’s why I need to find the sweet spot.”

Alucard set his glass down. His eyes were golden and unreadable, and Trevor realised belatedly that Alucard wasn’t, for some reason, having a go at him yet.

“That is the worst excuse for drinking I have ever heard,” Alucard said, breaking the silence, his voice softer than Trevor had ever heard it be.

Trevor laughed, somewhat mirthlessly, not knowing what to do with the discrepancy between Alucard’s tone of voice and the barbed insult that very voice had just formed.

“Not the takeaway message I was going for.”

Alucard closed his eyes and shook his head as if he were silently scolding himself. “I’m sorry, Trevor, for some reason I don’t seem to be able to talk to you without slighting you. My God, I am _blowing_ this.”

Trevor realised then, to his personal shock, that Alucard was _nervous_ : He was blinking too fast and didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. Trevor felt an unasked-for stab of sympathy.

“Take a sip of wine and try again,” he offered helpfully.

Alucard surprised him once more and did – probably for the first time in the history of mankind – what he was told. He emptied the whole wineglass in one long draught, and Trevor was quick to pour him another one.

“Thank you,” Alucard said. Then he looked Trevor straight in the eye and said it again. “Thank you, Trevor. Thank you for being here. I know how…irritable I can be. I know that one of my greatest abilities is knowing _exactly_ what to say to enrage you, and that I’ve been using this ability almost excessively. I know you’ve been trying your best not to pick a fight by staying out of my way, and I’ve also been trying _my_ best by staying out of yours. With Sypha here it was easier, more balanced, less – charged. With you it’s…”

He broke off, and Trevor finished his thought in his own words.

“Difficult. Strained. Annoying. Complicated.” Trevor sighed. “I know. And I don’t know why. We should get along by now, shouldn’t we? I mean, I gave you my family’s library, you gave me access to your family’s wine cellar, you cook food for both of us every day…one would think we’d make at least _somewhat_ acceptable roommates…castlemates…whatever.”

A pensive look settled on Alucard’s face. “But we do, you know. We do get along when it matters.”

Trevor raised his eyebrows. “That’s quite a radical thought, Alucard.”

Alucard laughed, a real laugh, and it was dawning on Trevor that they were actually having a conversation, a real _conversation_ that was not teetering on the edge of a fight. Huh.

“Hear me out, Belmont. The minute we start talking we start exchanging insults, yes. But what you just called a _radical thought,_ is not that radical. I respect you, you know. Despite your drinking and sleeping in dirty ditches and not having opened a book in the past three hundred of your lifetimes…” Alucard interrupted himself, biting his lip, fangs showing. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

“Yep.” A grin spread on Trevor’s lips. “You arrogant, sulky, bloodsucking bastard.”

Alucard chuckled. “Ahh yes, I suppose I deserved that one.” His expression grew more serious again. “But I do. Respect you, I mean. I respect your leadership abilities. I respect your bravery. I know that I can rely on you in battle. When we fight monsters together, it feels as easy as walking, as breathing. In battle, there’s no need to coordinate our movements at all _,_ because they _are_ coordinated. And a few months ago, in this very castle, when we went in shoulder to shoulder, there was no doubt in my mind that you would fight for me, and I would fight for you, to the death.”

Trevor swallowed hard. Alucard’s little speech had stirred memories inside him, but not the memories the dhampir was talking about – different ones, of a brightly-lit vault in Gresit and another fight to the death. Fangs at his throat. A blade slipping in between Alucard’s ribs, not quite piercing his heart.

“We almost killed each other, when we first met,” Trevor reminisced.

“Not the takeaway message I was going for,” Alucard quipped.

“Just being honest,” Trevor said, a sunny laugh bubbling out of his throat. “Though I gotta say, that was one of the best fights of my life. You’re brilliant with a sword, Alucard. Quick as a flash. Incredible control. When it ended, I was more than a little sad that I wouldn’t get to fight you again. It was like…a well-choreographed dance – or when you have great sex with someone. You start kissing and it just _clicks,_ and you know it’s going to be a smooth ride, because they know what they’re do-….”

Trevor trailed off, because it occurred to him, belatedly, that not only was he comparing _fighting Alucard_ with _having great sex_ , but also that talking about sex in general was highly inappropriate in Alucard’s company due to the actions of two formerly-alive humans mere _weeks_ ago that had involved a good dosage of sexual harassment, coercion and also the loss of Alucard’s virginity just before he had _murdered them in self-defence._

Shit. ShitShitShit. That _fucking_ third glass of wine.

Alucard, however, didn’t even bat an eye. Instead he lifted his glass and smiled at Trevor. There was a small glint in his eye, that Trevor couldn’t quite place, but it wasn’t anger, or sadness. Trevor knew what those two looked like on Alucard’s face.

The dhampir took another sip of wine, and Trevor stayed silent, trying to will the scarlet out of his face that was no doubt spreading there at the moment.

“I don’t have much basis for comparison, but the sex I had bore no resemblance to fighting. Maybe I was doing it wrong, however. I trust you’re more...proficient in this area than I am, though.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“Uhh,” said Trevor, eloquently. “Proficient?”

“You’ve had a lot of sex in your life and you know good sex when you see it. Or have it,” Alucard explained, and despite his completely levelled tone of voice, that odd spark in his eyes was still very much present.

Trevor didn’t know what to do with this, at all, other than be confused by it.

He decided to go on the offensive.

“You want us to talk about sex?”

“Yes,” Alucard said.

“Why?”

“Because you just told me that good sex is like a good fight. You also told me that our fight in Gresit was one of the best of your life. Colour me intrigued.”

Trevor was way, _way_ too drunk for this conversation, and his treacherous mind went back to Gresit, back to Alucard kneeling over him, his long hair in Trevor’s face, his breath at Trevor’s throat, his thigh just short of the raging hard-on in Trevor’s trousers. Trevor had blamed his arousal back then on a weird adrenaline-related reaction to being almost killed and _not_ on the person doing the almost-killing. Maybe he had been wrong.

Alucard was still looking at him from the other side of the table and Trevor didn’t really want to _think_ about this right now, or _talk_ about it, because he was _drunk_ for God’s sake, and he was _tired._ This whole walking-on-eggshells-thing that had been going on for five days was exhausting, just as exhausting as Alucard’s obscure way of saying things by not saying things or the fucking ambiguous glint in Alucard’s eye, or the interfering goddamn memory of bloodied stakes in Alucard’s front yard. Trevor wanted – Trevor _needed_ something clean-cut, something honest, something simple: A fight, a cold beer, a monster, a battle wound, a fuck.

In fact, he was _aching_ for it.

He got up from his chair, ignoring the look of surprise on Alucard’s face, and walked around the table, until he came to stand right next to him. Alucard looked up at him, a little more composed now, less startled, and, still, that maddening glint remained in his eyes.

Trevor bowed down, until his face was on one level with Alucard’s and very close to it, too.

“If you’re going to hit me, do it now.”

“Only if you’re a bad kisser,” Alucard retorted, a smile splitting his face. Trevor groaned and crashed his lips into Alucard’s, felt him rise to his feet; and then Alucard had already taken control, shoved Trevor with his back against the kitchen wall and proceeded to kiss the living daylights out of him.

“You _planned_ this,” Trevor accused him after a while, breaking away from his mouth. Alucard’s fingers were fumbling with Trevor’s belt, his eyes surveilling the task, but Trevor buried his hand in Alucard’s hair and forced his head up so he would look at Trevor’s face instead.

There was an obnoxiously smug smile on Alucard’s lips. “May I remind you that _you_ started talking about sex?”

“Yes, but you-“

“I was only entertaining the notion. It occurred to me during our conversation that we are less inclined to _bash each other’s skull in_ as you so wonderfully phrased it, when we work together physically.”

“And _this_ is your solution?”

A rather indecent look settled on Alucard’s face, and a thigh found its way into Trevor’s crotch, pressing _just_ on the right side of too hard. “Not physical enough for you, Belmont?”

“Try me,” Trevor retorted, and his hand slipped into the back of Alucard’s pants as if they’d done this a million times.

After that, it was easy.

Because, of course, (he would insist on this later on) Trevor had been right: Great sex was like a great fight. You needed the same qualities, the same feeling for rhythm and pace.

And, yes, (he would insist on this later on) Alucard had been right, too: They did get along perfectly well, when it mattered.


End file.
